Cabin In The Woods
by Becky99
Summary: Sequel to "The Halloween Story" has Cinnamon and Rollin deciding to spend a quality Thanksgiving together in a cabin near Redder Falls. What happens to them during that four day weekend makes their experiences when young and in New York seem like a walk in the woods!
1. Chapter 1

**INTRODUCTION:**

He called the Tuesday before and his voice seemed a little nervous. However, as proficient an actor as Rollin Hand was, no female but Cinnamon Carter would ever notice. "How are you spending Thanksgiving?" he asked, perhaps a bit too casually.

She thought the call odd. Cinnamon hadn't really heard from Rollin on a personal basis since October 31st, during Jim Phelps annual Halloween get-together, and he expressed his opinion on her horror story, which was actually quite real and personal for both of them.

After the party, only twenty four hours later, she had gone to Paris for a fashion shoot. It was always important to keep up her cover as a high fashion cover model. When she returned there were no messages from any of her workmates, including Rollin. Later, Barney told her he had a new nightclub act in New York, a two week run. Again, they had to keep up appearances. She smiled pleasantly at the news but was a little disturbed Rollin hadn't told her himself. Perhaps it was his way, she thought at the time, of confirming they were no more than what they were. Workmates.

"Thanksgiving, hunh?" She said, taking a short drag from her cigarette as they spoke , "Oh, I don't know. Barring a call from Jim about a new mission I am thinking about a quiet sabbatical at home; just me, a glass of wine, and a good book."

"No family visiting?" he asked.

"No." She knew this was leading up to something, "You?"

"I'm taking a trip up to Redder Falls, renting a cabin, and thought to get in some fishing."

"Oh, I see. It will be chilly this time of year." Cinnamon then paused before asking, "Taking a friend?"

"Funny you should ask …" he cleared his throat ever so slightly, "I was wondering if you might like to come up with me. They tell me it's a beautiful area."

Cinnamon closed her eyes before asking in a light tone, "I take it the girl you originally asked bowed out at the last minute?"

"Not at all." He said quickly, with a little humor in his voice. "Cinnamon, I just thought it'd give us an opportunity to talk. It's been a while … Remember how it was when Dan had us work together?"

Dan Briggs, their former IMF chief exploited she and Rollin's connection for the good of their missions together. They worked well a part but when they got together, worked on assignments that involved an intimate chemistry the couple could not be equaled.

Oddly, Jim Phelps did not really see it. Rollin often found himself the odd man out, Jim preferring to play the husband or lover, when a mission called for it. Cinnamon noticed their leader's penchants too but never questioned it. He seemed to know what he was doing and most of their missions together were a resounding success.

However, at the moment, what Cinnamon was remembering was a twenty year old girl in New York, a fledgling model, and the charming young actor that swept her off her feet. She told Rollin at the party that a girl never forgets her first lover.

"I recall you wanted more from me in those days than just talk." She chuckled ever so slightly. "I don't think either Dan or Jim would approve."

Rollin spoke delicately, but again with wit. " _Everyone_ wanted more from you … and they still do, obviously." Then, a little more seriously: "No expectations here, Cinnamon." He added, "I saw the floor plan. The cabin is cozy but has two bedrooms, a bathroom with running water and a kitchen with a full larder. Rustic but full of charm. I heard it was once owned by an affluent family."

"Are you inviting me as a guest or do you want to sell me the place?"

They both laughed lightly as Cinnamon pondered it. Rollin was one of the few men who thought of her in terms of "roughing it" in the deep, dark woods. Most men had notions of wining and dining her, spending money on expensive gifts, and taking her to dinner at sophisticated restaurants – with the hope of getting lucky. She had to admit it was part of Rollin Hand's charm that he felt her deeper than a costly meal or a string of pearls.

"When would we leave?"

"Tomorrow evening. It will take us a few hours to get to the village near the cabin. We'll check into a motel, I'll pick up the keys, and the following morning we're off to our mini lodge and some of the best salmon you've ever prepared."

"And what makes you think I know how to cook salmon?"

"I think you can do a lot of things others don't know about. I've seen you …"

"Forget it. Pick me up at 6pm. Don't be late, Mr. Hand."

"You bet." Rollin smiled warmly as he hung up the phone.

Cinnamon took another puff of her cigarette after she dropped the hand-piece into its cradle – and she also smiled.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

It was a beautiful evening and the drive was lovely. It was November and the weather, while chilly for Southern California, was not as cold as it was going to be in December and January.

Redder Falls was about twenty miles north of Big Bear Mountain in the Inland Empire, surrounded by a small community of locals who thrived on tourist trade. Despite this, the residents seemed to dislike anyone who was not a native of their mountain population.

Cinnamon and Rollin found the motel with little error, which was good because few were willing to give them accurate directions, and they checked into their rooms. The couple tossed bags onto their beds and changed into comfortable clothes. Rollin was a little surprised when Cinnamon drove up with him, wearing a warm mink coat, but had to laugh when she told him she never goes anywhere without it. That part of her character would probably never change. But now, as she stepped out of her room, walking over to his own, he saw she had changed into a pretty dark dress and an overcoat. Somehow, she still managed to look classy and gorgeous.

 _Always sensible_ , he thought. "Ready?" he asked and took her arm.

They walked together to a simple but lively neighborhood pub. It was still early evening and both admitted to being hungry.

"Did you get the key?" she asked him.

"No, the manager was out of his office. I'll pick it up tomorrow morning."

The pub had dancing and lively music that bordered on imprudent but it was all in good fun. The locals appeared to be having a great time. Rollin steered Cinnamon to the back, to a quieter area, and they both scooted into a booth. They looked about, noting some rustic tavern basics like dark oak paneling and a stuffed moose head on the wall.

By the time the waitress arrived the couple had already been chuckling about how Ernest Hemmingway might write about the village if he had visited it during the pinnacle of his career. Rollin noticed how some of the villagers were looking at them, probably curious or predictably entranced by Cinnamon's beauty. They ordered a couple of rare steaks with coffee and, for later, a peach pie dessert.

When she left them, after a quiet pause, Rollin reached over and took Cinnamon's hand in his. In Los Angeles he would never dare to be so bold, fearful of the wrong eyes spotting them. But here, where no IMF leader, including "the secretary", would hardly care to travel, the couple felt a little safer in demonstrating their bond. "I am so glad you decided to come with me." He said, "I've missed you."

"Rollin, you always know where to find me." she murmured.

"Was never sure you wanted to be found."

She nodded her head gently, "It's confusing, isn't it?"

They had this conversation before. Back in their early years with the IMF, when Rollin had recommended Cinnamon as an agent, a young model wanting more than to be a pretty face, they talked about their careers. Both agreed, as fond as they were of one another, they needed to concentrate on "the business" and not each other. It did not seem a hard thing to do at the time. They worked well together _and_ apart - and both led their own lives. They remained friends, even went out to dinner occasionally, and although there were moments during missions when they could not disguise longing, they understood being hands off with one another was for the best. Becoming too involved would just unravel an already potentially passionate partnership.

 _But now …_

They smiled gently and looked into each other's eyes.

"How are you doing?" The man approached their table, his hand held out in greeting. He wore a Sheriff's uniform.

Rollin shook it and said, "Very well, thank you."

He introduced himself as Aaron Moore and told them he was also the manager of the cabin they were renting. "I knew you the moment I saw you, Mr. Hand." He said, "Saw your show, _Mable's Feast_ at the Shubert a few years ago." He then produced a key and slid it over to him on the table. "Do you mind if I join you for just a few minutes?' he asked.

"Not at all." Cinnamon said.

He pulled a chair up to their table, "I don't mean to be an alarmist." He said, "But I thought it only fair to give you a warning."

"A warning?" Rollin asked.

"It's your cabin. It has a rather infamous history."

"Really?" Cinnamon glanced once at Rollin then to Sheriff Moore.

"It belongs to a family call McCaukey and was built over a hundred years ago. It's been updated over the last twenty years with electricity and running water but in its heyday it was a somewhat rural but still better than most residents in these parts." Moore paused and looked a little uncomfortable, "They say it's haunted."

"Haunted?" Cinnamon appeared amused.

"Don't laugh, Miss. The McCaukey ghost is legendary in this area. You see the family …"

He paused as the waitress brought Rollin and Cinnamon their meals.

"Go on." Rollin said when the girl left them.

"The McCaukeys were a very wealthy immigrant family that moved up into these hills, had the cabin built, with hopes of striking gold. Because of his wealth, Byron McCaukey pretty much usurped the individual gold-panners of the day. But, to his credit, he did hire many to work the mountain on _his_ behalf. Lot of people liked him for that. Others did not." Moore sipped from the warm cup of coffee the waitress brought him, "He had this beautiful daughter that a local man, James Johansen, fell in love with. McCaukey did not like him and he told Johansen to stay away from his girl. Seems Madelyn loved James too and they did not listen. The pair tried to run off and elope. They were caught and because Madelyn was seventeen, McCaukey had Johansen put away for two years for corrupting a minor. A year later Madelyn married a wealthy banker and they moved away."

"I think I see where this is going." Rollin said, looking from Sheriff Moore to Cinnamon.

He nodded, "When Johansen came out of prison the first thing he did was come to Redder Falls, to the McCaukey cabin, and he attacked Byron McCaukey. Somehow, McCaukey grabbed a rifle and shot a retreating Johansen in the back. His dying breath was a curse on the McCaukey name. He said he would find them all one day and destroy them. Some say James Johansen's ghost still wanders those woods and around that cabin, searching for McCaukeys to murder."

"What happen to the family?" Rollin asked.

"One by one they died off. There was a son that moved away. He got married and he has a descendent, a Mr. Roger McCaukey. As a matter of fact, I manage the cabin for Mr. McCaukey."

Rollin could not help his disdain, "Obviously the ghost was not a man of his word if the McCaukey line still exists."

"Roger McCaukey never married. He's fifty now, not in the best of health, and is the last of the McCaukeys. Once he's gone so is the line."

"Why are you telling us this story?" Cinnamon asked, frankly curious.

"Just a warning. We've had others that rented the cabin. None of them stayed any more than two nights. They said they could hear voices outside their bedroom windows, men arguing, screams, and the last couple to have the cabin said they heard a gun-shot." He shrugged. "If you're squeamish I can see if another cabin is available."

"No, that's okay." Cinnamon smiled coolly and looked at Rollin, "You would be surprised by how _UN-_ squeamish Mr. Hand and I can be."

Rollin returned her smile. It might be an interesting weekend in more ways than one.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTIUED.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

After a good mountain breakfast of eggs, toast, sausage and coffee, the couple hopped into the car and drove in the direction of their cabin. They climbed further up into the mountains, a winding road testing Rollin's rented blue convertible. It took Rollin and Cinnamon about forty minutes to reach their destination, while checking out the beautiful scenery of lakes, trees and eventually pausing at the waterfalls the area was so famous for.

They got out of the car when seeing Winton Falls, the largest in the area, to get a better look.

"Rollin, it's beautiful!" Cinnamon commented, her lovely face a combination of approval and wonder. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, experiencing the moment in a sensory way.

Unable to help himself, noting how striking and ethereal she was with a background of flowing water and flowers, Rollin grabbed the instamatic camera he had tossed on the backseat of the convertible then snapped three photos of his companion. The photos glided gently out of the camera and would take a few minutes to develop. Rollin slid them into his coat pocket to view later.

Back in the car, with Rollin at the wheel, he glanced at Cinnamon and smiled. Having witnessed all the evil they did while working with the IMF, the couple found themselves a little jaded at times. It was a delight to see Cinnamon so pleased and relaxed with the effortless beauty around them; the serenity. She truly seemed to be enjoying herself and he was elated.

When they finally reached the cabin the agents were impressed further. It was larger than they expected, with an enormous covered front porch, decorative crown molding around its gables, a stone chimney, and a white-washed rain barrel fountain in the front yard.

Once inside the delight faded ever so slightly. Although charming and generous, the cabin was dusty and in need of airing. Rollin assisted Cinnamon in with her luggage, dropping them in her bedroom then came out to help her pull sooty sheets from the worn but comfortable-looking furniture.

"It really _has_ been awhile since they rented-out this place." Cinnamon commented then asked him to check the large stone fireplace's vent before they lit a fire later in the evening. The windows were opened and the rugs were shaken.

"No wonder they gave me such a great deal on this place. It will take a day just to get it clean." Rollin then looked out of the main picture window facing in the direction of a lake only a few hundred feet from their cabin. They could hear it from the common room, the sound both soothing and exciting for at least one member of the duo.

"At least electricity and phone services are on." Cinnamon commented as she check both. She then looked up, sensing Rollin hadn't heard her, and suddenly knew why. "I know you are dying to get out of here and fish." Cinnamon watched him from an open kitchen area. Rollin could hardly keep his eyes off of the fishing rods propped against the cabin under the outside awning. "It's early. Why don't you go out for a couple of hours. By the time you come back I'll have a late lunch waiting." She opened the small refrigerator to be certain it too was working and filled as they had been promised.

Rollin appeared conflicted, "I don't want to leave you with cooking and housework." He said, "That's hardly a nice vacation for you."

"I'm not afraid of a little hard work. Besides, tomorrow _you_ will be doing the cooking." She reminded with a clever smirk, "Meanwhile, I'll change into some proper clothes and get to work. Just remember, if you catch some fish, clean them before bringing them into the cabin."

Rollin smiled and chuckled. Cinnamon, although always charming, could be quite bossy when she wanted to be. He liked it. With a nod, Rollin moved to his own room and change clothes.

By the time he returned with a couple of nice fresh water bass, Cinnamon had the cabin looking like something out of _Living Well_. A nice blaze was crackling in the fireplace, the cushions on the sofa and chair had been freshened and fluffed, and the floor was swept and vacuumed.

Still, with all of this done, he could smell something delicious in the direction of the kitchen and Cinnamon, dressed in jeans, a loose flannel shirt and a green scarf wrapped around her well styled hair, still managed to look fresh and attractive.

"Is there nothing you can't do?" he asked, gently laying his catch on some spread newspapers on a side counter.

"More than I'd like to admit." She said, slightly distracted as she set two places on a small round table behind the sofa. "I decided on something simple for our first night. It's chicken soup and home baked bread and butter. I also made a small chopped salad for both of us." She looked up and over at him, "Is that okay?"

"It's perfect, actually. I'll stow the fish in the fridge and we can have them tomorrow."

Cinnamon nodded and watched as Rollin, wearing a denim open-necked collar work shirt and a light over-coat, wrapped the bass and turned to do what he said. His hair was slightly mussed and, sitting in the sun, he managed to darken his tan ever so slightly, bringing out his blue eyes. Rustic living suited him, she thought. Cinnamon found herself thinking of a few other things as well but kept them to herself. "If you would like wine there are a couple bottles in the fridge."

"Why don't we wait and have it tonight … in front of the fire." He did not look at her but his voice had softened.

"That's a lovely idea." Cinnamon murmured.

* * *

Later that evening, they found a large clean soft rug and laid it in front of the sofa just before the fireplace. The couple sat on the floor, cross-legged, and drank the delicious red wine while gazing into the fire. It was 9pm and the day had been busy but satisfying.

"Maybe tomorrow we can take a walk in the woods and do some exploring." Cinnamon suggested.

He agreed and liked the change from their active day. The evening was meant for quiet conversation, the here and now, and remembrances of past times they had shared together. Their experiences, as a very young couple in New York, were like something out of a dream. It _had_ happened but, looking back, it hardly seemed real.

Cinnamon still had trouble believing she was nearly the victim of a serial murderer and Rollin could only focus on meeting her before she had become a seasoned agent, cool and collected as they all had to be to do their job well.

And – of course – they had been lovers. Few knew about it, that he and Cinnamon had a history together, and it was not information the couple had divulged during their rigorous IMF job interviews. As a matter of fact, the agents had agreed to keep themselves well a part while working with the IMF. They could not be too careful _or_ distracted …

But something had changed very recently.

Although neither would admit it just yet, both were contemplating the day when they would leave their work and go onto something else. And – perhaps – if the other was interested they might be able to do it together. That is, if the feelings they had felt for each other ten years ago were still intact today. They were so young back then. Perhaps this weekend was a tester to see if that fire, that sense of devotion, remained.

"Whatever happened to Patricia?" Rollin asked Cinnamon, recalling her leggy roommate.

"She married. Has four kids and is living somewhere upstate. I haven't heard from Pat in years." Cinnamon sipped her wine then asked Rollin, who visited New York far more often than herself, "Is the nightclub still there?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact last year I did a one man show at Club Avalon, that's what they call it now, for a few performances. It's updated and the owner reminds me of Humphrey Bogart." The couple chuckled then Rollin got to his feet. "Almost forgot. I want to see how the pictures I took of you near the falls turned out." He pulled them from his coat pocket and without looking, passed them to Cinnamon for inspection. As he sat again on the floor he noted a rather serious expression on her face as she examined the photos. "Something wrong? Are they blurry?"

"No …" She passed one then another to him, "Look. There's a man there. I never saw anyone, did you?"

It was true. Cinnamon was posed before one of the falls smiling, appearing happy and lovely, and just behind her on the other side of the water stood a tall man with a beard. He was staring at her and seemed very tense.

"I never saw him either." Rollin admitted. "But the falls are famous so I suppose there could very well have been someone there we missed."

"I suppose so." Cinnamon still seemed a little disturbed as Rollin took her glass and filled it again. "But you would have thought one of us would have …."

"The noise of the waterfall, the distraction of the flora and fauna …" He smiled gently and touched her hair, "… and other beautiful things. Is it any wonder we were preoccupied?"

The photographs forgotten, Cinnamon looked up at him and noted their close proximity. Those fingers that had touched her hair were now softly dragging across her smooth cheek and she would be lying if she told Rollin she did not like it. Cinnamon looked up into his eyes, once again fascinated by their lovely color and his soft, generous mouth that was mere inches away from her own.

He nearly bent down and claimed her lips with his own when a loud crack was heard against the side of the cabin.

"What was that?" Cinnamon cried, startled.

They both stood, placing their glasses on the tables on either side of the sofa.

Rollin grabbed for his coat and a large flashlight Cinnamon found in a cabinet earlier in the day. She slipped on a sweater and followed him out of the cabin.

It was a cool, clear night, the stars winking up above, and the forest beyond them was dark and filled with the sounds of nature. Rollin flashed the light everywhere but saw nothing. He did, however, find a large branch that had fallen near the fireplace. "The wind must have blown it." He told her. "It must have hit against the house. That's what we heard."

"It sounded a lot louder than a branch smacking against the cabin, Rollin." She said.

Then they heard a call. It came from deep within the woods, holding a ghastly and ghostly echo. The cry sounded determined and nearly heartbroken: _"Madelyn McCaukey, come to me! I need you! I love you! Madelyn!"_

The agents looked at each other, wide eyed.

"Let's go back in the cabin." Rollin said and took Cinnamon's hand, pulling her along with him.

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE COMING SOON.**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE.**

She was in the middle of the woods and it was late. Confused, she could see the crashing falls off in the distance, admiring how the flowing water sparkled in the full moonlight, and the scene might have been serene and soothing if she was not so afraid.

Cinnamon looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a nightgown. She bought it in Chicago two years ago; thin, white, elegant and trimmed tastefully in delicate lace.

But she was so cold and she was alone.

Where was Rollin? She did not like that she needed him close, to protect her and guide her, but she did not know where she was – not really – and could not fathom how she found herself outside in the first place. Nearly apologetic, she cried: "Rollin?!"

Then she heard it … the voice … but not the one she and Rollin heard together the night before.

 _"_ _Come to me, Miss Carter. Be part of my perfect woman …"_

Then she saw the man in black, gone for so many years, and he was standing before her, gloved hands clasped together and his dark hat tilted on his head in a way that almost seemed taunting. Beside him, tacked to one of the trees was the atrocity he had made, a human form made with the body parts of so many murdered young women.

It was headless and waiting for her.

"You're dead!" Cinnamon cried. She then turned and ran. She seemed to be on a path to nowhere. Ragged branches with barbed leaves slapped at her and cut her face, thorns pierced her delicate bare feet, and Cinnamon could not help her yelps of panic and misery. How was this happening?

He was calling for her as she ran, his voice holding echoes. And he laughed, _"You will never get away from me! Never!"_

Oh, if they could see her now! Barney, Willy and Jim … She was like a little girl, lost and terrified, and she wanted a friend to be there for her, to greet her at the end of this dark and perilous path … as he had been years ago … in New York … She reached out blindly in the darkness, "Rollin!" A cold hand touched her from behind, "No!" she cried …

And Cinnamon sat up in bed panting, perspiring, and feeling the pretty nightdress cling to her svelte body, despite the coolness of her bedroom.

She was in the mountain cabin, in her room, and looking around in the darkness Cinnamon Carter felt safe but oh so alone. Cinnamon wanted so much to go to him - but fought the urge.

* * *

"They want to keep the ghost story alive." Rollin said over his cup of coffee.

It was the following morning and, in the light of day, their interrupted evening of romance made a great deal more sense to two very realistic agents.

Rollin had prepared both he and Cinnamon a breakfast of oatmeal, toast, juice and coffee. He then sat across from her at the small breakfast table as she ate and thought about the evening before. He noted that Cinnamon, dressed in her fetching nightdress and robe, seemed somewhat fragile and fatigued.

He nearly went to her room last night. Rollin had slept a few hours and awakened, thinking he heard something, and had the overwhelming urge to hold Cinnamon close. But he couldn't do it. She hadn't invited him and he was still unsure if she was experiencing the same yearnings.

"So what you're saying is someone came out, hit the side of the cabin with that branch we saw, then ran out into the woods to cry out about his dear Madelyn?" she said to clarify then chewed thoughtfully and delicately on the corner of a piece of buttered toast.

"Right, and now they expect us to run into town and tell all about the paranormal experience we witnessed last night."

The couple could now roll their eyes and mildly laugh but both were shaken up enough last night that they retired to their rooms with hardly a word exchanged.

Rollin hoped to get matters back on track today. He looked at the pensive woman and, in a light tone, said: "Tell you what, why don't we take a nice long walk this morning, come back in time for lunch, _then_ see where the afternoon takes us."

"Maybe do some antique shopping in town?" Cinnamon suggested and smiled gently when he nodded, "That sounds lovely, Rollin." Cinnamon shook off her nervousness. "Maybe tonight we can prepare the fish you caught yesterday. I know a lovely recipe for _Trout Almandine_."

"I didn't catch trout. It's bass."

"And you told me it would be salmon." She chuckled at his expression, "Doesn't matter. Agents that work for the IMF learn to improvise."

She then gave him a very cool look followed by a warm smile.

* * *

They did not walk as far as Redder Falls, as it was too far away, but they did follow the lake for a while, spoke to a few fishermen with cabins a few miles from theirs, and both were surprised when they found trees with the sweetest most flavorful red apples either had ever eaten.

Cinnamon and Rollin held hands and breathed in the fresh air. They spoke of the very few missions together that had taken them into the wilderness and, despite the danger, how much they enjoyed them. Rollin spoke of retiring one day and living in a simple mountain community like Redder or Big Bear and Cinnamon laughed. She told him he would never be able to leave the big city for long. It was in his blood.

Rollin almost told her _she_ was in his blood but decided to keep quiet. It was too soon. He would only scare her away.

The couple determined, even after the apples, they were hungry and it made sense. Rollin looked at his wrist watch and it was already one thirty in the afternoon. They had been walking and talking together for much longer than they thought.

"Time passes too quickly when I am with you." Cinnamon said, looking up at Rollin, delightfully honest.

"A comment like that deserves a wonderful lunch. Since we're planning to go into town anyway why don't we find a quiet restaurant and a booth for two?"

"I'd like …" Cinnamon suddenly looked passed Rollin and thought she saw someone. A furtive figure, looking much like a man, had been watching them then quickly ran away.

"What is it?" Rollin turned to look where she was looking.

"I saw someone. Rollin, he looked like the bearded man in the pictures from yesterday."

"Are you sure?" His eyes searched the greenery.

"I think so."

"He's gone now."

Tossing their cores away, the couple walked the path back to their cabin to change.

Cinnamon suddenly became a little anxious, feeling a prickle to the back of her scalp. The trail they were traveling seemed strangely like the one in her nightmare but this was the first time she had walked it. The sooner they got out of the forest and to the village the better.

* * *

There was a line of tiny black stones, gathered from their famous falls, polished to a glossy sheen and woven in place with a thin leather cord and decorated with pulled lines of genuine gold, panned from the Redder River. It was made by local artisans and stunning. It was also very expensive.

The antique store owner wrapped it in tissue paper and Rollin took it from her and furtively pushed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He noticed Cinnamon looking at it earlier as it rested in a glass cabinet. She even asked the price and grimaced ever so slightly when hearing an amount that was a bit too much in her estimation. Still, it was lovely and she told the woman she would think about it and might just pick it up when she and Rollin drove through the town on their final day in Redder Falls.

While Cinnamon was off looking at greeting cards, Rollin pretended to gaze at fishing lures and indicted to the shop owner he wanted to buy the bracelet.

Later, the woman was all knowing smiles and waved I good cheer when the couple left.

That evening, after supper, when Rollin and Cinnamon once again sat in front of the fireplace, he presented the gift to a flustered and grateful Miss Carter.

"Oh, Rollin! It's so expensive. You shouldn't have …"

"I wanted to buy it." He said and gently clasped it around her slender wrist. "I could see you loved it."

"I do but …" Again, Cinnamon acknowledged a connection as she looked from the lovely bracelet to gaze a Rollin. No diamonds or pearls … but something just a beautiful with polished stones, thin leather and just a perfect trace of gold. Would he have bought it for her if he did not see Cinnamon ask about it? Somehow, she thought he probably would and that made it more valuable than the crown jewels of Povia. Gently, she cupped his face in her hands and brought him close for a long, soft and very sensual kiss of gratitude. Pulling back but still very close she whispered, "Thank you."

Her hands dropped to his shoulders as she felt his arms encircle her, "You are so very welcome." And they kissed again, gentle but loving pecks of affection on the lips. Then Rollin said something that he would later regretted to the core of his being. It was stupidly introduced and spoiled an otherwise beautiful moment. "Let's see Jim Phelps make an impression like this." It was meant to be a joke and he nearly dived in for another kiss when Rollin felt Cinnamon pull back.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Slightly taken aback he said, "It's obvious, isn't it? You've never seen him looking at you? Never felt him desiring ...?"

Cinnamon pulled back even further. "Yes, he's looked. A lot of men _look_." she said, a bit defensively. "Do you think I evaluate you all by …" she lifted her hand, displaying the bracelet. " … the gifts you give me or the kisses we exchange?"

"Have you kissed Jim? I mean, outside of a mission?" he asked, now also a little self-justifying.

"Would it annoy you if I did?"

"Yeah, I admit it. It would."

Cinnamon pulled out of his embrace completely and leaned her back against the sofa, her arms folded. "I am not some prize in a competition." She declared, "If you came here thinking to get "one-up" on Mr. Phelps then it may disappoint you to know that Jim has never been anything other than a gentleman." She side-glanced at Rollin, "Which is much more than I could say about others."

"Cinnamon, I did not mean …"

"Of course not." Her tone was disappointment. "I'm supposed to be able to read men so well. I thought we shared something special, Rollin. How was I to know that you brought me here as nothing more than another conquest. Someone you and Jim can compare notes about …"

"That's not fair! You aren't a _conquest_. Cinnamon, I thought you knew …" He broke off, suddenly anxious.

"What?"

He paused, looking into her eyes. "Cinnamon, I love you."

She grew pale and did not seem to be able to speak.

Rollin watched as she reared up and got to her feet. He had never seen a look so infuriated and confused on her lovely face _ever_. Not even back in New York when she and he were faced with a black clad killer in an old dusty tavern. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To bed!" she called back, angrily. "Goodnight!"

He heard the door slam behind her.

Rollin blinked against the flames in the fireplace and closed his eyes. What had he been thinking? How could he just blurt out that he loved her? It had to have seemed insincere, something he said at the spur of the moment, trying to smooth things over. Maybe she thought he merely said it to get her into bed. _But it was the truth._ He did love her. That was what he was trying to tell her all along during this retreat. Rollin loved Cinnamon, wanted to be with her, and he needed to know if she felt the same as him.

"Suppose I got my answer." He murmured but knew deep down that it was not entirely true. He had offended her and tomorrow he would have to think of a way to make it up to Cinnamon.

* * *

She lay in bed and could not sleep. Before crawling in Cinnamon unclasped her bracelet and lay it on the bedside table. She turned on the pillow and looked at it glimmer in the semi dark. It was such a sweet selfless thing, buying her a gift, and Cinnamon knew he did it out of love and kindness – not for potential services rendered. That was not what Rollin was all about – especially with her.

But he had scared her. Declaring his love while they were fighting was not the way that should have happened and Cinnamon was dumbstruck and felt foolish. Why couldn't he have said it while they were walking yesterday or just after they kissed?

Cinnamon sighed and sat up. Her clock read midnight and she wondered if Rollin had gone to bed. If he planned to fish tomorrow morning he night have decided to make it an early night … Her reflection was interrupted when she thought she heard voices.

Someone seemed to be arguing – _outside._

Cinnamon stood and pulled on her robe.

She could hear them clearly outside her window. She walked over and looked out but saw nothing. Still the argument continued and got louder. Uneasy, Cinnamon thought she heard punches being thrown. Was Rollin fighting with someone?

She turned and quickly and walked to her bedroom door. Just as Cinnamon opened it, as she took her first step out, she heard a rifle shot and she froze.

The embers from their fire lit up the common room area enough to cut through the darkness. Startled, Cinnamon turned when she heard Rollin open up his bedroom door.

"Did you hear that?" he called to Cinnamon.

"Yes. Arguing and a gun shot …"

Then they heard it. A woman was weeping. Sobs followed. _It was as if she was in the room with them._

Cinnamon did not hesitate. She quickly made her way over to Rollin and allowed him to put his arms around her as the couple both looked wide-eyed about the cabin.

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR COMING SOON.**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Dawn came hours before.

He drew a gentle line from the top of her burnished bare shoulder down to the curve of her smooth elbow. Cinnamon's lovely, pale, unblemished back was open to him, the sheet and coverlet pulled up over her splendid breasts as her tousled head of hair lay on the pillow next to his own.

Last night hadn't started the way it ended.

* * *

The spectral heart-broken sobs diminishing, Cinnamon and Rollin recovered from the initial shock of what they heard. _A ghost._ It was not possible, they thought. The couple searched the kitchen and common area for hidden speakers. They had been agents far too long not to press for the rational rather than believe they were actually the eye and ear witnesses to something paranormal. Even their experience in New York so many years ago could be explained. Perhaps not as clearly as they might have liked but the rationalization they received still made more sense than a spook!

Unfortunately, they found nothing. However, the quiet of the rest of the night had eased their trepidation and they could now at least smile at one another and shrug. Neither was tired, too tense to sleep, so Cinnamon suggested they open another bottle of wine and try to relax. Rollin tossed a new log into the fireplace and they watched it blaze.

The couple then sat on the sofa and leaned back, deep in thought.

Cinnamon twirled her Merlot in the wine glass then broke the thoughtful silence with a gentle clearing of her throat, "I shouldn't have over-reacted, Rollin. I'm sorry."

He looked at her, confused. "When?"

"Earlier." She reminded, "Before I decided to go to sleep."

"Oh." He nodded, "Sorry I brought up Jim. That was ridiculous and unfunny." Then he added, "But I'm not sorry I told you I love you." he paused, "Because I do."

They both stared at the fire.

Cinnamon whispered, "I love you too."

The silence for a count of five was nearly deafening.

"So … what do we do about it?" she added.

It was the question of the hour.

This might have been a perfect moment for both to look lovingly into each other's eyes and speak words of affection but instead they continued to sit and sip their wine, staring into the fire.

Soon, both grew groggy and languid. It was two o'clock in the morning. They got up, placing their glasses on side tables and slowly walked to their bedrooms. Both hesitated outside the doors, thoughtful and irresolute.

Cinnamon turned to look at him, "Rollin, I don't want to be alone." she hesitated in her honesty, "But I'm not ready for …"

Wordlessly, Rollin lifted a hand and mimed her to join him.

Mindful, he kept his robe on when he crawled into bed, not wanting to scare her away. Cinnamon fell easily into his embrace as he held her, feeling her head on his shoulder and a slender hand resting against his chest.

 _'_ _What were they going to do?_ ' Rollin thought the answer would be simple but it really was not. In love they might be but that was hardly conducive to being top-notch secret agents. Their work with the IMF had made both of them wealthy and Rollin had been considering leaving for months. But Cinnamon … Was it ego that made him believe she would want the same thing as himself?

They slept deeply for two hours. He awoke to the feeling of caresses; a gentle touch on his neck and cheek and realized she was kissing him, soft swipes with her perfect rose colored lips. "Cinnamon?"

She answered him, their eyes meeting in the dim light from the moon as its illumination peaked through the bedroom window's curtain. "Take me to places I've never been ..."

Suddenly, it was as if they were back in New York – _but better._ They had the experience of years. No longer were they an intense artiste, a young temperamental man pressing too hard to make the intimate encounter memorable for his cherished but innocent partner. She was no longer a twenty year old virgin, allowing him to guide their love-making because she was genuinely adrift, but not in her passion and adoration for him …

Rollin felt Cinnamon push the robe from his body as he groped blindly to pull the nightdress up over her head.

* * *

Cinnamon turned over, realizing sunlight was now streaming into the small room and having felt his touch on her arm. "What time is it?" she whispered.

Rollin loved her throaty murmur and smiled gently, laying on his side, held slightly upward on his elbow. "Nine thirty… AM."

It wasn't an unreasonable hour considering they had barely slept during the night.

She rolled over and looked up at him. Cinnamon then returned the silly grin that said so much without saying a word. Despite probable poltergeist activity, last night had been magnificent. "Proud of yourself?" she asked with humor.

Instead of answering her outright he replied, "I can make breakfast." Rollin spoke low, stroking her hair. "What would you like?"

" _Lunch_." She replied, and pulled him down to kiss enthusiastically.

* * *

They drove into the village and decided to see Sheriff Moore. They needed to report what had happened but were both still too jaded to believe the cabin was being haunted.

Rollin was convinced they were the victim of a practical joke, although he noted Cinnamon was not quite as convinced as himself. Something odd was going on, she agreed, but perhaps it had more to do with vivid imaginations rather than mischievous town folk. Cinnamon remembered the man near the waterfall and also seeing him out in the woods. She was working on a theory but could not quite pull it together in her mind.

There was a good crowd about the village, consisting of sightseers and small-game hunters. Now that the weekend had arrived everyone wanted a piece of the quaint village.

It took a while but they finally found parking outside a bait and tackle shop. From there they walked to the Sheriff's office.

"And you say all of this happened last night?" Sheriff Moore asked, appearing troubled. He sat at his desk, leaning heavily back in his chair. His twenty years as a law enforcement officer in Seattle were tested with this new information.

"The night we arrived we heard a loud noise, as if someone had thrown something heavy against the outside of the cabin. When we went outside to investigate we heard voices." Rollin explained.

The Sheriff met Rollin's eyes in a 'Really?' expression.

Cinnamon said, "Just because you told us the locals think the cabin is haunted does not mean it is. We do not believe in such things."

"You aren't the first to come here saying they've heard these things." Sheriff Moore reminded.

"Which makes us believe that there is someone out there playing an odd joke." Rollin insisted, "We are just worried about it becoming ridiculous. It's already annoying."

"Anything else?" the Sheriff ask, not impolite.

"Yes," Cinnamon recalled, "I've seen a man with a beard. "I saw him once at the falls and again when Rollin and I were walking through the woods."

"You think he might be behind it all?"

"I don't know." Cinnamon spoke coolly as Rollin shrugged. "But it's a very odd coincidence."

The Sheriff nodded, "I'll make some enquiries. We are having a special visitor this afternoon so I may not get back to you until late. Are you two leaving Monday morning?"

"Depends if we have another visit tonight. We may leave Sunday afternoon."

"I have to give you credit. You've lasted longer than a lot of other couples that have rented that cabin." He then tapped his desk with nervous fingers and sat up a bit straighter, "The offer is still open. If you would like another cabin I'm sure I can find something."

"No." Cinnamon said quickly, "We like the cabin, it's cozy and comfortable. Besides, from the look of those clouds out there it might start to rain or snow soon and we don't want to move all of our things out in the middle of a storm."

Hearing that their phone was in working order, the Sheriff gave the couple his home phone number and told them to call if something happened again that evening. He also promised to call them if he discovered new information or something unusual about their problem.

Satisfied, Rollin and Cinnamon left his office.

They decided to go to the local grocers and pick up an elegant cake. Neither were heavy sweet-eaters but they wanted something special to go along with the skillet fish over creamy polenta Rollin intended to make that evening. Cinnamon was surprised by his culinary skills and she told Rollin he would make some fine woman a great husband one day. Rollin nodded his head slightly and inwardly hoped she was right.

The rest of the day was devoted to visiting the famous falls again, walking about the area, enjoying each other's company, and finding odd markings on many of the stones near the river. They were told by locals they were marks left during the days of gold-panning; marking territory. Many were made by Native Americans, a last ditch effort to keep what was theirs until they were finally pushed off their land or murdered.

"For such a lovely place it has such a sad and violent history." Cinnamon commented before they left for the car. She watched as Rollin rolled the top over the convertible. The sky was growing dark and, hearing a low rumble of thunder, both knew a storm was coming.

* * *

They made it inside the cabin with their cake just before the rain started.

Rollin immediately began to prepare supper and Cinnamon left him to freshen up and get comfortable.

She came out about forty minutes later wearing am elegant crushed-velvet lounging outfit, the top tied at the back of her neck like a halter. It was cut somewhat low in font and the back was bare and tantalizing! Her hair was brushed away from her face and she smelled wonderful, having applied just the right amount of perfume to be alluring but not over-powering.

Rollin also saw that she was wearing the bracelet he bought her.

Catching her cue, he put the meal on simmer then left the room to wash-up and change. When he returned, wearing comfortable but stylish slacks and a sophisticated pull-over dress shirt, Cinnamon had set their table, poured drinks and she had placed tiered candles on their small table. She lit them as he watched. It was very romantic.

They ate, looking at one another through the flames and Cinnamon told him everything was delicious. Even their store-bought cake was creamy and divine.

When they were done, Rollin took Cinnamon by the hand and he led her over to the sofa. They sat, once again looking at the dreamy fire, and she leaned into his embrace, holding one another as they thought languidly about their time together and futures.

"I need you in my life, Cinnamon." He murmured, "I don't want this to be the last of such weekends together."

"What are you saying exactly?" she asked, gently caressing his hand as it lay across her shoulder. "Do you want us to be exclusive?"

"I want to marry you." He felt her shoulder stiffen somewhat under his arm, "I know as long as we are with the IMF that makes little sense. But we won't always be agents, flying from country to country to stop injustice."

The last was said with a slightly lilting air that Cinnamon could appreciate. As agents they took the moral high-ground but they had done a few things that neither could feel altogether proud of. Their jobs often required an "end justifies the means" approach. Still, their work was very important and both would miss it should the day come when they would no longer be needed.

Rollin inwardly sighed when she hesitated, not verbally answering him right away. He could see she was struggling and wished Cinnamon could see things the way he did, without reluctance or over-thinking an already too shadowy future. He had known she was the woman for him since the first moment he saw her. Did she really not feel the same chemistry?

"Okay. Yes. I will marry you."

This time it was Rollin who froze a little, stunned by what he just heard. He was about to say something insightful then kiss her passionately when a loud knock came from their front door. Both turned to look at it, offended and frightened. "I don't believe this." Rollin growled. _Pranks at a time like this?_ He was up and halfway to the door when they heard a shouting voice.

"Open up! There's been an accident. We need help!"

Rollin looked at Cinnamon and motioned to the fireplace, where the poker was positioned.

She understood, stood, and grasped it.

The rain was coming down heavily now.

He opened the door and in stumbled two men, both wearing hunters gear. One had a rifle strapped to his back and the other appeared to be bleeding from a chest wound.

"I shot my friend here. Please, he needs help!"

Cinnamon gasped. The hunter speaking was the same man she saw in the woods and near the waterfall!

* * *

 _ **CHAPTER FIVE - possibly the final chapter - WILL BE UP SOON.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE.**

"My name is Jim. We were out hunting when the storm broke." He spoke with a slightly Germanic accent and his ruddy face appeared grief stricken, "We found shelter but then it grew dark." He and Rollin lay the wounded man on the floor in front of the fire. He was bleeding badly from his chest. "I must have fallen asleep, just nodded off for a minute, but when I awoke my comrade was not there. Then I heard a noise in the darkness …"

"And you shot him?" Cinnamon, on her knees, placed a pillow under the man's head. If he was a hunter, had been out in the woods with his friend for the last few days, it made a little more sense as to why she had seen him. However, the man with his dirty overcoat and intense gaze - "Jim" - still unnerved her a bit.

Cinnamon was struck with the difference between the two hunting buddies. The injured man was clean shaven and his hair was short-cut and well maintained. Whereas his worried partner had longer hair, was bearded, and appeared peculiarly disheveled.

"It was an accident. I thought he was a bear."

Rollin quickly made his way to the telephone but there was no dial tone. "Phone's out. Must be the storm. We need to go to the village and get a doctor." he said.

Cinnamon concurred, "You two go and I'll stay here and _try_ to keep him alive."

Rollin knew Cinnamon was capable but he suddenly felt uncomfortable. "I don't want to leave you alone." he said.

"Don't be silly. We can't leave him alone and you two may need to help the doctor with equipment or whatever else he needs. Just go!" she demanded.

"She's right." The hunter, Jim, said and quickly walked out of the open cabin door to Rollin's car.

Rollin paused a moment more and took Cinnamon's hand. "You be careful." He said to her, gently rubbing her fingers.

"You do the same." She said and smiled warmly but fleetingly up at him as he released her hand and departed. She then placed that same gentle hand on her patient's forehead. He was pale but warm.

She opened his coat wider and looked at the blood stain spreading across the hunter's chest. Cinnamon quickly made her way into the bathroom, all the while thinking about Rollin. The rain had let up ever so slightly but the mountain roads would be treacherous. She worried about him …

Then Cinnamon was struck with something so strange it made her shiver. As she laid a towel on the man's chest and applied pressure, as she adjusted a blanket on top of the injured and unconscious hunter, it suddenly occurred to Cinnamon that she and Rollin were now engaged to be married! The man who just left the cabin was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with – and he and she had been officially betrothed for the last ten minutes!

If the situation were not so serious she could almost laugh. How appropriate, she thought, that they should now find themselves in the midst of a crisis on one of the most important nights of their lives!

* * *

The hunter sitting beside him, as he drove, was quiet but appropriately nervous. Rollin knew he should probably be trying to make him feel better about what had happened but he could not get past how utterly foolish it was. If the hunter-Jim had just called out to his chum the mishap would not have happened. "Is your car close?" Rollin asked.

The man appeared confused for a moment, "Deep in the woods." Jim said, "That is why we came to your cabin. It was too far."

"We'll get him the help he needs. Cinnamon – Miss Carter – will do all she can to keep him comfortable until the doctor arrives."

"Your lady is very beautiful." Jim suddenly said, "She reminds me much of the woman I love. She could be her … sister."

Rollin was surprised by his sudden comparison. Rollin said the first thing that came to him, "She's my fiancé." and he felt the man's eyes on him for a long while before he spoke.

"You are a very fortunate man."

"Yes, I am." Something about the hunter's comment, the subtle incongruity in his voice, made Rollin uncomfortable. This was an odd conversation considering his friend was seriously hurt in their cabin, wounded by hunter-Jim's own hand. Pushing away dread, Rollin decided the man was in shock and said, "We'll be there soon …"

A car was coming towards them on the rain slick road and Rollin gently applied the brake, his convertible skidding ever so slightly. The lights flashed and the other vehicle slowed as well, a hand waving out of the open window, barely seen in the dark.

Rollin slowed further then stopped as the police car pulled up and also became immobile.

Sherriff Moore exclaimed, "Miss Carter called me. The phone is now working. She said there was trouble. That a man was shot."

Rollin nodded, admiring Cinnamon's fore-thought, to try the phone again. "Yes, his hunting friend and I were headed into town to find the doctor."

"His _friend_?" the Sheriff seemed puzzled.

"Yes, this is Jim …" Rollin turned to look at his passenger and make a quick introduction.

The hunter was gone, as if he never existed.

* * *

Cinnamon hung up the phone, pleased it was now working. She had called the village operator and, when the doctor was unable to be reached, was content when she connected her directly to the Sheriff's office. Cinnamon was surprised to find the Sheriff _was_ available since it was so late. He told her there was an emergency that kept him up and his deputies were out trying to find a missing village guest. He also told her he was glad she called. He had something interesting to show her – but that was before she told him about the accident.

Unfortunately, the man she was watching had died. Cinnamon did all she could to keep him comfortable but there was a gurgle, he stopped breathing, and his heart stopped. Although Miss Carter was not a doctor she did know many life-saving techniques. She had been trained in First Aid and was certified in CPR. Cinnamon had taken on the role of a nurse and doctor on more than one occasion, as had they all at one time or another, and she was convincing. Still, nothing she did worked. He was too far gone.

Cinnamon wondered how deep in the woods the men had been. She suggested the Sheriff come up to the cabin and bring the doctor with him. A report would need to be filed, of course.

With a sigh, she looked over at the still form on the floor, with the blanket now up over his face.

She hoped Rollin would be back soon.

* * *

He could not have gotten out of the car or Rollin would have heard him. Still, what other explanation was there? The agent assumed he must have gone to the village on his own because as he and the Sheriff made a return trip to the cabin they did not see him walking on the roadside. He must have been in shock or had gone mad. It was raining again and the thunder boomed above them like a colliding freight train. What could he have been thinking?

* * *

Cinnamon paced back and forth, the thunder making her edgy as she waited for the men. She did not frighten easily but she had an apprehensive feeling for the last half hour. She felt like she was being watched and had grown cold. Cinnamon slipped a dark sweater over her evening wear and puffed nervously on her cigarette. 'Acting like a frightened child.' She thought, angry with herself.

She then heard a low keen, gentle sobbing, and she was about to call out when the cabin's front doorknob rattled. Cinnamon stamped out her cigarette in an ashtray and walked toward the sound. She had locked it and was stunned when it swung open, revealing hunter-Jim.

Cinnamon exhaled, relieved they had finally returned. It was only when the man walked slowly inside alone, rain-water dripping from his body; a strange look in his tense eyes, that Cinnamon realized something was wrong. She watched as he looked down at the blanketed form and she winced when the lightening flashed behind Jim eerily.

"He's dead?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

He paused. Then: "Good."

Cinnamon could feel her blood run cold as his attention moved from the body to look at her. There was now something bizarre and nearly manic in the man. Why hadn't she seen it before? "Where is Rollin and the doctor … or Sheriff?" she asked, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

"We will be gone before they arrive, my dearest."

"What?"

"My revenge is complete. Now, we can rest in peace, the both of us!"

Cinnamon backed up, her eyes widening, as he moved toward her. "What are you talking about?"

" _My beloved_ …" He suddenly stopped when he too heard ghostly sobbing.

The female cries, the woman with a broken heart that Cinnamon and Rollin heard the night before had returned. And a voice was now heard: "Darling … Oh my darling …." She wailed.

The hunter looked from Cinnamon to the area where the voice was most prominent in confusion. "Madelyn!" he wailed.

Cinnamon could not quite understand what was going on until, to her amazement, the form of a lovely young woman appeared. She wore the somewhat affluent dress of a lady in the eighteen sixties. Although she was semi-transparent Cinnamon could see her forlorn features and an eloquent manner.

Rollin and the Sheriff abruptly appeared at the door.

Cinnamon wordlessly met Rollin's eyes but lifted a hand for both to be silent as the hunter and apparition approached one another.

They were Madelyn McCaukey and James Johansen. The lovers who had been parted so viciously when her father killed him with a shotgun blast to the back.

"But how …" the Sheriff started, wondering the same as Cinnamon and Rollin how the man could be alive.

He was not. His form suddenly changed, to become as translucent as her own. Their hands touched and then their bodies embraced. "Together." The word was said by both, holding echoes.

And then they were gone.

Rollin and Cinnamon turned to look at one another once again.

The Sheriff was as stunned as the couple but, used to the tales of ghosts in this region, he managed to pull himself together a fraction quicker and walked over to the body on the floor before the fire. He pulled the cover down and sighed inaudibly, "It's as I suspected." He said, "This man is Roger McCaukey, the last of the McCaukey line. He was the guest I told you about who went missing. James Johansen's vengeance is complete."

"That's impossible." Rollin said, now closing the door behind him. He walked over to Cinnamon and placed an arm around her as they looked at the Sheriff and McCaukey's body from behind the sofa. "If Johansen was really a ghost then how could he _shoot_ Roger McCaukey?"

Sheriff Moore removed the bloody towel and opened his shirt, "There's no wound." He announced, "This man was frightened to death."

As they looked at the towel, the blood stains disappeared.

* * *

The paramedics moved McCaukey's body out of the cabin per Dr. Whitewood's instructions.

Rollin and Cinnamon listened as Sheriff Moore told the doctor he was visiting the village, their guest of honor, and then decided to visit the couple who was renting his cabin when he collapsed, having an apparent coronary. The man, with no family and in poor health, probably had come to see the place one last time. Little did he know he would die there.

The agents understood. Sheriff Moore could hardly tell anyone a spirit had murdered the poor man. Nor that James Johansen and his ghostly lover, Madelyn, were reunited. They would think them all ridiculous and in need of psychiatric care.

Dr. Whitewood, though his years long association with the sheriff's office, seemed satisfied and told Sheriff Moore he would notify all the right people. He then left the threesome alone, thoughtful and forlorn, and wished them all a goodnight.

"You said you wanted to show me something?" Cinnamon asked the Sheriff as he sat in a tall-backed chair near the fireplace. Cinnamon had made them coffee and she joined Rollin on the sofa. The men and woman drank as they discussed what happened. It seemed odd to be speaking so close to where Roger McCaukey had died only an hour before.

"Here." He pulled out an envelope from inside his jacket and gave it to Rollin who was closest to him. "That's a photo of Madelyn McCaukey. See a resemblance?"

Neither had really noticed it in her ghostly manifestation but the woman and Cinnamon looked much alike. In the posed picture Miss McCaukey wore an elegant dress and was carrying a parasol. She was lovely, educated and quite poised, it seemed.

"That was taken two years after she married the banker. She became Madelyn McCaukey Tinslow. It took me a while to locate her photo. I finally found it in our library's archives. When Johansen's ghost was looking at you, Miss Carter, he thought he was seeing Madelyn." The sheriff said.

"I still have a difficult time believing we saw _ghosts_." Cinnamon said, her hand shaking ever so slightly as she brought the coffee cup up to her lips.

Rollin knew she was remembering the man in black from ten years ago. While his eyes never glowed as they had in her story last Halloween, he did have the strangest way of turning up, knowing where she was going to be in a moment's notice. Rollin still recalled how he and Cinnamon were watching television, the way the fiend looked into the camera as if staring directly at Cinnamon – and how frightened she was.

He gently took Cinnamon's free hand in his own and squeezed it.

"But now it's over." Sheriff Moore said, "There will be no more ghosts because the reason for them being here is gone." His voice took on a bit of sadness, "There are no more McCaukeys and, in death, the couple are now together."

"I hope you're right." Rollin said, quietly.

The Sheriff stood, preparing to leave. "I take it you two will be leaving tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.

Cinnamon looked about the cabin, taking in the quiet, hearing just the slightest patter of rain now on the roof of their vacation retreat. She then looked at Rollin, her fiancé, the man she loved, and smiled gently, "Monday." she said.

He nodded, agreeing. "Monday."

Sunday they, if luck was with them, would be very busy in the village.

* * *

 **GO TO EPILOGUE!**


	6. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE:**

Cinnamon sat back in the passenger side seat of the convertible, bundled warmly, a colorful scarf around her neck, and looked at the paper in her hand, "I cannot believe we did this." she said. "I can't even imagine what my family will say when I tell them."

"I'm not sure you should tell them. Not yet." Rollin chuckled, enjoying the sweet levity in her voice. "We are in agreement then?" he asked.

"Yes." She nodded and folded the paper, pushing it into her purse on the floor of the car.

After the Sheriff left on Saturday evening, the quiet was lovely. No cries, no strange sounds, and there was an air of peace and tenderness about them that was soothing and conducive to romance. Despite what had happened that evening the couple was left with a sweet reality. They were in love _and_ engaged to be married.

It was time to plan for their future.

They would still work with the IMF – for a while. If they felt they could not continue to work side by side, seeing one another in danger, if Cinnamon were to become pregnant - something she assured him would not happen too soon - then they would resign.

Cinnamon, for the first part of their journey home, could not stop staring at their marriage certificate. They had decided to have a quick wedding in the Redder Village Chapel, the ceremony performed by its minister. Neither was overly religious so it did not matter to them who officiated. The couple, although hopeful, was honestly surprised when they asked Minister Glenn. They thought he would say no and they would have to drive to Las Vegas. Then he told them he had an hour free between 2pm and 3pm!

After the wedding, as they left, Rollin joked that the old man knew they were cohabitating in McCaukey cabin and hoped by marrying them to save their souls.

While Cinnamon admitted it probably was not the most romantic ceremony in the world she had to also acknowledge, with their unconventional way of life, flexibility and short notice was natural; A short, private ceremony – with a lifetime of love. "We need to tell someone." She decided

"Why?" Rollin asked as he drove.

"Someone other than us should know – just in case there in an emergency." Cinnamon looked at Rollin's handsome profile. "Do you understand?"

"Suppose I do." he said, "Willy?" Rollin suggested.

" _Barney_." Cinnamon countered, "He's already married. I think he'd understand better than anyone else."

Rollin slipped his free hand into hers as they reached the bottom winding bend of the mountain. "And maybe for our anniversary next year we can return to that cabin in the woods?" he suggested.

She side-glanced at him and smiled. "Why not, darling?" Cinnamon scooted a little closer to him, gently pecking Rollin on the cheek as the cool wind blew through their hair …

* * *

A lone figure, translucent and disturbed, had watched them as they as they packed up the convertible and left the cabin.

They would be back, Roger McCaukey thought.

 _And he would be waiting._

* * *

 **THE END**

Happy Halloween!

October 2015

 _(please let me know what you thought of this fiction in comments please! Thank you so much!)_


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